


The Hardest Thing, This Decision I Made

by flipflop_diva



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abortion, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Friendship, Guilt, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12056121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: Steve thinks about the fantasy he once had. The one that featured him and Peggy and their two point five kids. But she's not Peggy and that fantasy isn't applicable right about now.A remix of theladyscribe'sa woman-like, now-and-then, could-happen-to, thing.





	The Hardest Thing, This Decision I Made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/gifts).
  * Inspired by [a woman-like, now-and-then, could-happen-to, thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137075) by [theladyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe). 



> Written for the Remix Revival 2017 fest. Trigger warning for abortion and talk about abortion. It would probably help to read the original.
> 
> I originally wanted to pick something lighter for this fest, but I kept being drawn to this fic of theladyscribe's. It conveyed so much in so little words, and I really wanted to know what Steve felt during this period of time. So here you go.

In the end, he goes with her to the clinic. She tells him, more than once, that he doesn’t need to, that she can handle it on her own, that she’s fine, that this is fine, but for once, he sees past the mask she always wears. 

He sees that she’s not sure about this. That she doesn’t know if they are making the right decision. That she doesn’t know if there is a right decision. He doesn’t know either. 

He keeps thinking about the fantasy he once had. The one that featured him and Peggy and their two point five kids (which, in his fantasy, was sometimes two kids and sometimes three). Usually all little girls. With blond hair and big brown eyes like their mother and a ferocious spirit.

He gave that fantasy up when the plane fell out of the sky. 

He’s a different person in this world. Not just because it’s a new era, but he’s a new him. He has a purpose here that has nothing to do with a wife and children. There’s no place in their lives for a baby.

For a second he thinks about the ridiculous notion of them asking Fury to babysit the child and he almost laughs out loud. The only thing that stops him is her presence by his side. She’s sitting ramrod straight, not completely unusual for her, but he can almost feel the tension and the nerves radiating.

He thinks about their conversation last night, lying in bed, the distance between them barely anything in terms of inches but feeling so much closer to miles. She hadn’t even looked at him when they spoke.

"You don't have to go through with it, you know," he had said. 

He still didn’t know why he’d said it, what he was hoping to accomplish. He didn’t know if he wanted her to agree or if he wanted her to assure him this was the right thing.

She hadn’t done either. "Do you want me not to?" she’d asked instead.

"No. Yes. No. It's not my choice to make. You and I -- our lives -- I don't think either of us --" He finally stopped stumbling over his words, settled on, "There's no easy answer."

"There never is," she’s said, and that had been it.

He hadn’t fallen asleep at all. He thought she had, finally. But they woke in silence, dressed in silence, had breakfast mostly in silence, apart from him asking her if she wanted him to come.

He followed her to the car even though she’d said no, and he found it telling that she didn’t say anything when he got in the passenger side.

She didn’t say anything after that either. She still hasn’t.

He wants to reach over, take her hand, touch her leg, something. But he doesn’t do anything. Instead he sits and waits.

It takes a long time before they call her name. She doesn’t look at him as she gets up and walks through the door that will take her to the back.

He sits back in his seat once she goes, closes his eyes, squeezes the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

He can see the picture in his mind’s eye, a little red haired girl in her arms. He feels an ache in his heart and wonders if he should have spoken up. Would she have changed her mind if he told her he didn’t want this? If he told her they could have done this? Could they have done this?

She’s his friend. She’s been one of his only friends the entire time he’s been awake, even if she likes to pretend otherwise.

He cares about her, he knows that much. He cares about what she thinks and how she feels. She’s the strongest person he’s ever met, but sometimes he worries about her even when he shouldn’t.

He’s not in love with her — he thinks he’s maybe still a little in love with the image of Peggy that won’t leave him alone — but he does love her. He wonders again if they could have done this and tries to will away the regret he knows is about to wash over him.

•••

They call him back when the procedure is finished. He’s holding her hand when she comes to, a little disoriented, a little groggy.

He helps her back into her oversized hoodie and wraps an arm around her as he leads her to the car. She’s leaning heavily against him, and he’s not sure if it’s the after effects of the drugs or the after effects of the decision they made.

He takes her home and gets her comfortable on the sofa and makes her tea that she doesn’t drink before she falls asleep. They gave him a list of possible side-effects from the procedure and he has the meds they gave him to give her if she needs them. He knows she’ll never admit to needing anything for pain — pain means nothing, she told him once — but he keeps the pill bottles on the kitchen counter just in case.

It’s two in the morning, more than twelve hours after he’s taken her home, before she finally talks.

“The Red Room said I could never get pregnant,” she tells him in broken whispers. “This was never supposed to be a choice.”

It feels wrong to tell her he’s sorry, so he doesn’t. Instead he wraps an arm around her shoulders and lets her lean her head against his chest.

He rocks her gently against him as she cries, her body wracking with her sobs under his hand. 

He knows in the morning, she’ll be gone. He knows in a couple days, they’ll go back to work and she’ll be there and they’ll both pretend none of this happened. No one else will ever know and they’ll never talk about it again.

He knows this and he’s okay with this, and thinks that maybe it’s for the best, but for the moment, he strokes her hair and lets her cry and watches the little red-haired girl in his mind’s eye vanish away into nothing.

He feels empty. He feels numb.

He closes his eyes and listens to Natasha’s sobs.

Tomorrow, this will be forgotten, but for now, for one last minute, at least they can grieve together.


End file.
